A Murderer's Touch
by Phoenix Oblivion
Summary: Even before his first year at Hogwarts, Francis Bennett had enjoyed murder, but juggling with sadistic desires, oblivious friends and a possible threat to the school turns out to be far more challenging than anyone could've anticipated. (Set post Deathly Hallows)
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: Hey everyone, and welcome to my brand new project, A Murderer's Touch.**

 **This is pretty much my first Harry Potter fanfiction (apart from one small venture which I lost interest in fairly quickly). I must admit, I know very little about the fandom apart from a few fics I've read, but the new movie has rekindled my love of the books/films, hence this story. What I did notice is that there didn't seem to be much morbid or horrorish material going around, so I hope you find the plot original!**

 **For those who don't like OCs, I suggest you don't read on, for although there will be real characters from the books (McGonagall, Slughorn, Flitwick etc) the main ones will all be my own creations. I should also warn you that this fic is obviously going to deal with some pretty dark themes, and may stray into M-rating in terms of violence, so yeah. Nothing sexual, I think, but violence certainly.**

 **Whelp, that's pretty much it. Hope you enjoy the story!**

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 _ **A Murderer's Touch:**_

 **Prologue:**

The girl was crouched in the shade of an overgrown yew tree. Late afternoon sun broke through the shrubbery behind her, casting long shadows across the path and onto the field opposite. They twisted and turned like jet black ink running down a piece of parchment, so much so that her own shadow was barely visible. A scarlet coat stood out against the greens and browns of the bushes. Dirt and grime covered her potruding knees. The sound of tears filled the air, breaking the usual spell of silence. She was alone.

No one ever came here. Unlike the rest of the park, it had no lively play area, full of swings and slides and climbing frames. It had no wooden benches where families could sit down to enjoy a picnic. There were a pair of goalposts, but even they were dilapidated and rusty from neglect. Many a passerby had commented that the grass seemed to be stuck in winter time, tinged yellow, never cut. The path that winded around the field led up to a fence that opened out onto a street. Beyond that resided the town. It had been this way for as long as anyone could remember; old and full of rotting trees and decay.

What she was doing, hiding in the dirt, wasn't clear. A bedraggled mop of hair reached down all the way to her chest, tightly concealed by the large grey buttons of the scarlet coat. She couldn't have been more than six, perhaps seven, but she looked younger with sobs making her miniscule frame shake. A tear, one of many, spilled off her face and onto the ground. It was a pitiful sight. Just to her left was a torn school bag with what would've been a daisy pattern woven on it- excercise and text books lay strewn like wounded soldiers. Occasionally, she would glance at the bag, only to bury her head in her hands and cry all the more.

The girl didn't notice some fateful alignment of the stars had brought another to the unwanted side of the park.

It was another child. A boy, much older. He walked down the path briskly, cheeks furrowed. Despite the cold, this one hadn't taken the precaution of a wearing a coat. Instead, he wore odd clothes, similar to a tunic or cloak. Chalk white hands were stuffed into the enormous pockets to keep his fingers from going numb. Hazel eyes reflected the sun falling below the horizon line, flashing harshly. He was muttering something inaudible under his breath, but the scathing tone gave away that he was thoroughly annoyed. Nonetheless, apart from this slight leer, his countenance was steely and unemotional.

His thoughts were strained elsewhere. Walking home was a tribulation on the warmest of days, let alone when bitterly cold wind was slashing through the air. He hated being cold. The mere idea of snow darkened his face. It made his footstops heavier, scuffing along the concrete pathway. Left. Right. Left. Right.

An unexpected glimpse of red was what alerted him to the girl's presence. His mind disregarded it at first, thinking it to be a berry of some kind growing on the bushes. It was only when he was a couple of metres away from the yew tree that he stopped dead. Slowly, his gaze turned to fix on her hiding place. The outline of a body could be seen through the thin gaps in the branches. Small knees in black leggings betrayed her. The realisation that she was crying followed soon after.

You'd think that one would feel sympathy in his position. She was, after all, a young girl, apparently lost and upset. Common decency would implore you to ask if she was alright, or if she needed any help, and provide some comfort and ministrations. Not the boy. The chalk white hands shifted in his pockets, and he snorted disdainfully. Icy indifference settled over his conscience. He bore no responsibility to assist the girl. Kindness, it would seem, was not a trait he possessed in abundance.

The boy's eyes reverted back to the path, before yet another hesitation caught him mid-step. The cogs in his brain were, all of a sudden, beginning to turn. He considered his position. He considered it again. The girl was still unaware that he was watching her. Nobody knew, in fact. Nobody but himself in the whole wide world.

And then, a horrible thought crept its way forward.

It was so horrible, and so vile, and so detestable, that a boy who knew no lack of horrible, vile and detestable thoughts surprised himself. It was an idea that been lingering inside for awhile now- lingering in the blackest pit of his heart and soul, and growing stronger every day. He glanced around. Typically, the park was empty. No eagle eyed mother ready to swoop in and save the day. No cameras observing his every move. They were on their own.

He shivered, not from the cold, but from nervous anticipation. Could he do it? Was it possible? Would he be caught? It certainly appeared safe. He checked again. The oppurtunity was there, tempting him, seducing him with whispered words and enticing promises. The boy had never been one not to take his oppurtunities.

With a deep breath, he stepped off the path and onto the soil that separated the undergrowth from the main field. The scarlet red coat remained perfectly still. Now, upon closer inspection, he could make out the ripped daisy pattern school bag. Her hair was a deep shade of brown, like chestnut. Trying to keep himself calm, he parted some of the branches. She looked up, shocked.

'Who are you?' she squeaked, watery blue eyes widening to the size of moons.

'I'm...' he struggled to compose himself. 'I'm a friend.'

They stared at each other for a few moments. Tension crackled between them, before she dropped her head and sniffed. 'Have you come to make fun of me like the other boys?'

'Of course not,' he answered, closing the distance. 'There wouldn't be any fun in that.'

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 **Please consider dropping a review and telling me what you thought! Thanks a lot for reading. :)**

 **-Phoenix**


	2. Chapter 1: Sorting

**Author's** **Note** : **Welcome back to A Murderer's Touch.**

 **Well, here's the first chapter. I know it took awhile, but I wanted to make sure that I got the first proper introduction to Francis Bennett right. Fingers crossed you all like it!**

 **Here are my reply to the review-**

 **RoyalRose161: Glad to know you enjoyed it! I don't think it'll stray into M-Rating territory too much, but who knows. Thanks a lot for your review!**

 **Well, that's pretty much it. Please consider dropping a review and telling me what you thought. :)**

* * *

 _ **A Murderer's Touch:**_

 **Chapter One:**

'Bennett, Francis!'

As his name was read out to the entirety of the students in the Great Hall, he made sure to keep his face expressionless. No one would've been able to tell that unwelcome anxiety was fluttering in his stomach. It wasn't an emotion he was used to feeling, and certainly not one he couldn't control. The only indication that he had heard came with a blink of hazel eyes, narrowed slightly in the warm candlelight.

The wave of uncertainty passed quicker than it had arrived. He stepped away from the cluster of fellow first years, up the steps and towards the old, battered shape of the Sorting Hat. The four long house tables behind him had descended into the customary silence that followed the announcing of a new name. The High Table in front of him was occupied by the teachers, who gazed at him welcomingly. He ignored the majority of them, all except Professor McGonagall, the headmistress of Hogwarts. Her thin lips seemed unnatural when twisted into a smile.

Soon, Francis was sat on the wooden stool and Flitwick had placed the hat on his head, covering his eyes. He waited patiently to learn what his house would be.

'Ah,' whispered a small voice, at last. 'Now this is new. Oh yes. There's fierce intelligence in here, that much is undeniable, but with that comes wit and plenty of cunning. Perhaps Slytherin is the right choice for you... but then again, perhaps not. Your mind speaks for itself, and my, such a strong thirst for knowledge. Yes, I think there's only really one house you'd fit in.'

The Sorting Hat raised its voice to address the rest of the hall, 'Ravenclaw!'

He stood up calmly as a modest amount of applause rang out, offering the Sorting Hat back to the professor who incidentally had just become his head of house. Flitwick nodded at him approvingly, a gesture which he returned, before taking his seat at the front of the Ravenclaw table. Whatever anxiety he'd wrongly felt had completely evaporated now- the dozens of eager Hogwarts pupils watching weren't intimidating in the slightest. Next to him was a blonde girl with the word "Prefect" emblazoned on her robes.

'I'm Lucy O'Braidy,' she said, in a thick Scottish accent. 'Pleasure to meet you.'

'The pleasure is mine.'

Francis turned back to the group of first years. Many were ashen-faced. His name had been read out quite early, and as of yet, he was the only new Ravenclaw. A Gryffindor girl was called, followed by a Hufflepuff girl, and then, a Slytherin boy. The reaction to this, he noted, was significantly different to the one that greeted those selected for the other three houses. More refined, less friendly. Another reminder of their infamous reputation.

He had to admit, he was a little surprised that the Sorting Hat eventually chose against putting him in the latter house. Everything he'd considered pointed in the direction of the table on the right. They intrigued him a little. The books Francis had glanced at in Flourish and Blotts, with all the subtlety of a mountain troll, indicated that the majority of Dark Wizards of recent years were of Slytherin heritage. He wasn't naive enough to believe that the other three had not produced some questionable offspring, but such an observation was certain to set off his avid curiosity.

It was because of this trait, Francis mused, that he was sitting where he was now.

He refocused his attention when a brunette joined him, introducing herself as Felicity Reynolds. She was short with a large ponytail, and cheeks bright scarlet with embarassment. He told her his own name with as much politeness as he could muster, and she proceeded to babble some inconherent nonsense about being glad she'd even got into the school. Their remarkably one-sided conversation was cut short when another boy made his towards them.

Francis found it hard to resist the temptation to groan. He knew this particular individual already, having suffered him for far too long on the Hogwarts Express. His name was Bradley Bates, and was about as irritating as anyone he had ever met. Needless to say, there was some stiff competition in this category.

'Thank Merlin that's over,' he declared, claiming the spot beside Francis. 'The year's barely started and I already wanna go back home!'

Felicity giggled at this. The male opposite her did not.

'I was scared the hat would put me in Slytherin,' the girl said. She lowered her voice a little. 'Everyone I've asked has said they're all, well-'

'Horrible?' Bradley guessed. 'I wanted to be put in Gryffindor myself, but y'know, Ravenclaw's alright too. What about you Francis?'

'I would've been satisfied whichever house I found myself in,' he answered curtly.

Neither of them appeared to pick up on his tone, and as their frivolous chat settled on other topics, he allowed his mind to wander again. The sorting was reaching its end, and the group of first years were dwindling in numbers. All of a sudden, there were two more boys (Cameron Hughes and John Pritcho) and three more girls (Sandrin Caed, Eve Jones and Emily Armitage) at their table. Eventually it came done to the final few, and Bradley nudged him with his shoulder when a small boy stepped forth.

'It's Matt's turn,' he hissed.

Francis looked up. This was the only other person who had been in the compartment with him and Bradley on the train; Matt Sheldon. He'd said very little, clearly lacking confidence and was almost shaking in terror as he approached Professor Flitwick. Francis had very little doubt as to which house he would be placed in. His suspicions were confirmed when the Sorting Hat yelled, 'Hufflepuff!'

The boy scampered away from the stool to sit down, and for a moment, the Ravenclaw's gaze lingered on him. Matt Sheldon was probably the least irksome person he had met that day, although this was entirely attributed to the fact he'd said the least. Francis had hoped magical children would be less intellectually challenged than the Muggles he'd been forced to suffer at home, but alas, his faith had been misguided.

After what felt like an age listening to Bradley Bates, Professor McGonagall tapped her water goblet with a spoon, and the talking stopped. She stood up importantly and cleared her throat.

'Before we proceed with the feast and indeed a brand new year at Hogwarts, I would like to make a few announcements,' the headmistress declared. 'The Forbidden Forest is, as the name so eloquently suggests, forbidden to all students. The school caretaker, Argus Filch, reminds us the use of magic between lessons is not permitted under any circumstances, and finally, Quidditch trials will take place in the second work of term for anyone interested in representing their house.' The out of place smile made its second appearance. 'Other than that, do tuck in!'

At once, an erray of silver platters appeared before them on the wooden table, filled to the brim with all the food anyone could possibly desire. Francis hadn't been expecting the apparition, and one of his eyebrows rose. It was most impressive magic. Around him, his housemates licked their chops and tucked in. He hadn't eaten since the train journey, so settled on some roast beef.

The feast carried on for at least an hour. Infectious laughter and cheerful murmurings spread around the hall like ripples over a lake. While eating, Francis was forced to talk with some of the Ravenclaw boys around him. Cameron Hughes and John Pritcho were the very definition of normal. Apparently, they already knew each other, with both of their families attending Hogwarts for generations. He pretended as best as he could to be intrigued by their _enthralling_ ancestary. Thankfully, the ghosts made their grand entrance when they started on Quidditch. The girl prefect introduced them to the Grey Lady, their own house ghost, who looked like she'd rather be somewhere else.

'It's a shame Matt didn't make it into Ravenclaw,' Bradley Bates told Francis, while stuffing his face with a chicken drumstick. 'He seeemed decent.'

'I'm afraid he didn't speak enough for me to make a judgement.'

'Who was that?' Cameron intruded.

'Matt Sheldon. The Hufflepuff boy over there.'

The boy followed Bradley's eyes to the hunched over form nearby, and sniffed haughtily, 'Well, if he was put in Hufflepuff he can't be that great.'

He wasn't quite as bad as Bates, but he was getting there.

When the puddings arrived- trifles, eclairs, doughnuts and other assorted treats- Francis' interest settled back on the High Table. Half of it was taken up by Hagrid, the enormous gameskeeper and Care For Magical Creatures professor. Flitwick's presence beside him created an undeniably stark contrast. Despite this, however, it was neither of them who stood out the most. Sitting on the left was a young woman dressed in clothes that reminded him much more of Muggle than it did a witch. Her auburn hair was tied tightly into a bun, and he could tell she was pretty. Pretty indeed...

Suddenly the puddings faded from the dishes, catching many of them off-guard. McGonagall was once again on her feet. 'Quiten down, please.'

They did so, and she tilted her spectacles down her face. 'I hope you've all had a pleasant evening and are looking forward to the year of learning ahead. A quick message of your own, and then, it shall be time we all had off to sleep: please do try your best. Whatever your dreams, you will never come close to making them reality if you do not. We can teach you everything we know, but in the end, hard work and perserverance pave the way to true success. And so, in all your endeavours, I wish you the best of luck.'

She clapped her hands. 'Prefects, please lead the way.'

Slowly, Francis got to his feet. Lucy O'Braidy had already done so, gesturning for the first years to follow. 'Come on then!' she said kindly.

She led them through the bustling crowd that was gathering and out into the Entrance Hall. Just as he'd done the first time, Francis admired the enormity of the Hogwarts castle. The two rooms he'd been in so far had ceilings thirty feet off the ground, and were nearly the same distance across. They went down a corridor that led off to the west. And then another. And then another. The paintings waved at them. The tapestries appeared to move. A knight in shinning armour tilted its head. The doors opened at illogical intervals, and closed just when you thought it was safe to go through. Each new discovery was greeted by an impressed "oooh" and "aaah". Francis hadn't joined in, of course, but no one could deny it was remarkable.

Finally, after climbing a particularly exhausting spiral staircase, they arrived at a large wooden door. It had no keyhole and no handle, but located right in the centre was a golden knocker, molded into the shape of an eagle with outstretched wings. The students looked at it in confusion, wondering why the prefect had led them to a locked door, before the beak of the eagle slowly parted.

'When is a door not a door?' the knocker asked.

Francis realised what was happening. In order to get in, you had to answer a riddle. Just as he was wracking his brains to answer it, Lucy said aloud, 'When it's enchanted.'

The wooden door swung open to reveal a vast circular room (and in turn received the biggest "oooh" yet). Tables and chairs lay littered around, and the ceiling was domed, as if it they were in a church. Francis was reminded of one even more when he noticed the stain glass windows, which displayed images of the same eagle on the door, proud and almost thoughtful. Lucy strode forward and pointed at an equally imposing marble statue of a woman at the back.

'That, first years, is Rowena Ravenclaw,' she told them proudly, 'and this is your common room. Wonderful, isn't it? Behind the statue, you'll find the dormitories. Girls on the left, boys on the right. All your things and, I daresay, your fist timetable will be on your beds.'

She nodded at them encouragingly, and the excited group quickly split up, dashing up their designated staircase and into a final hallway that contained the dormitories. Bradley reached for the door labelled "First Years", quickly followed by Cameron and John. Inside it there were several four poster beds, one for each of them.

Francis walked over to the one closest to the door, where his trunk was located. He ignored the complaints of Bradley as he fought with John over who got the got the one closest to the window. It was sealed with a simple Muggle lock his father had given him, and in no time, he was inspecting his things through narrowed eyes. He wanted to make sure none of his things had been moved. If he'd had his way, no one would've touched his trunk.

He paused as his hand brushed against something long and thin, hidden underneath his robes and books.

His wand.

With a quiver, he removed the object from the trunk and looked it up and down in the candlelight. There didn't seem to be any scratches on the perfectly clean ebony surface. Not a scratch. Francis' breath hitched in his throat. Something had been awakened when he touched his wand, deep inside his chest. He could feel it whirling around, threatening to overwhelm him. The magic roared. It wanted to be set free.

He resited the urge to grab the nearest book and perform the first spell he saw. _No,_ he thought, unable to suppress his disappointment. _They'll be plenty of time for that tomorrow._

Right now, he was tired, and he wanted to sleep.

Quickly, he changed into his pyjamas and settled down into the comforting bed sheets. It wasn't anything like the sheets at home, but it would do. Bradley had now resolved his argument with John, though he obviously wasn't at all pleased with the outcome.

Francis could still hear their inane grumblings when his eyelids closed. _Morons._


End file.
